Fisk's Partners
by Theodora Helena Miller
Summary: Slash-free for a change, but lots of platonic friendship stuff that quickly gives way to frill-free action. Michael is captured by Jack Bannister, so Fisk teams up with three women you know and love/hate/love&hate to save him. T for violence.
1. Chapter 1: Fisk

**Made in America. No OCs were used in the making of this product. Slash not included.**

**Health warning: May contain traces of nut(case).**

I was still mad at Mike for giving his damsel in distress the reward and worried he'd bring up Jack Bannister AGAIN. So I finished the mead I'd paid for by playing a few card games with merchants and waved for another tankard.

We were low on coin still because of Noble Sir's damned morality, so we were in a clean but cheap and not too respectable inn in a small town called Gorgepoint.

There was, believe it or not, a huge gorge running through the town. I'm not a stranger to heights and climbing after my years of being a cat burglar, but even I don't cross the bridge much.

There were some shady folks and a few members of local brothel there, so I was jumpy as could be and still sober enough to keep my eyes on dagger hilts and exits. And the heavily painted girls from the brothel.

"Fisk!" Michael snapped.

"What? They're advertising. I'm just watching a show."

Truth be told, I was trying to annoy Michael. He'd been polite, avoiding arguing, for the last month. And though I was not looking forward to the next guilt-trip-wrapped-up-in-a-personal-question about Jack Bannister, I had to admit the lack of chatter was making the rides more tedious than the existence of it.

"That's it. What is wrong with you?"

"With me?" I asked. "I'm not the one using the silent treatment for no apparent reason."

It was his turn to look angrily shocked. "The silent treatment?"

"You never shut up, and suddenly you're like a stone wall."

"In case you didn't notice, I lost the love of my life and got thrown off a cliff and beaten up all in one spectacular sweep."

"So that's it? You want pity? I didn't see painful memories of your past being dredged to the surface and then dragged back up every time your supposed best friend opens his mouth."

"Now who's looking for pity?"

I hadn't even noticed that we were standing and the entire room was silent.

"Best friend?" Michael asked quietly.

Damn it, I was hoping he hadn't caught that. "No, that's not what I meant. Don't twist my words."

"There wasn't anything to twist." He replied, grinning as he sat back down. "You said it."

I rolled my eyes and ignored him, returning to my mead. Michael, however, abandoned his drink and watched me curiously. It became a struggle to look casual and still avoid his gaze.

"WHAT?" I asked finally.

"_Are_ we best friends?"

"I don't know! How would I know? I've never…"

"You've never had a best friend?"

I nodded, one short jerking motion.

"Same here."

Why did he have to make things awkward? I wanted to strangle him.

"Well, good night."

I left the empty tankard on the table and hurried off into the room we'd rented. Trouble's leash was tied tightly to the bedframe, and his tail thumped the floor as I came in. I took the bed he _wasn't_ tied to.

"Stay." I told him.

He kept grinning that stupid doggy grin, so I laid down with my back to him.


	2. Chapter 2: Michael

I woke up in somewhere other than my bed at the inn with a major headache. After the various times I'd woken up in a strange place, I was scarily used to it. But where was Fisk?

"Fisk didn't teach you anything, did he?" Someone asked. The voice bounced off the walls, piercing my aching skull with stabbing pain. I couldn't see anyone, but when I tried to stand up I knew I was A) tied up and B) concussed.

That voice was familiar. Where had I heard that voice?

Memories of the last occasion flashed in my brain. A dark carriage pulling up beside me and Fisk on a muddy road; a rain-soaked cliff; my slippery, wet fingers clinging to ledge of a wall of stone. It couldn't be.

He walked out and stood over me with his head tilted in disdainful, detached curiosity. "For the better, I suppose. You see, you and your… squire severely annoyed my employer. And, even worse, myself."

"You're Jack Bannister." I said, remembering the various life lessons Fisk had bitterly referred to over the years. "Or rather, you're the man whose name isn't Jack Bannister."

"Is that what Fisk calls me? That's quite the lengthy title."

"It's usually just Jack."

Why was I talking? I wanted to leap to my feet and attack him. I wanted to call him words I scolded Fisk for using. I wanted to find Fisk.

"I'm just surprised he confided in you."

It was hard to say which word was meant to have inflection. Was he surprised that Fisk of all people had confided in someone, anyone? That he'd confided in me in particular? Or both?

I settled for a much more important question. "Where the hell is Fisk?" I asked, trying to show as much hatred as I felt in the words.

"Your _squire _is safe and sound asleep in that squalid inn. It would be illegal to kill him for no reason. And as confident as I am in my ability to disappear, I doubt that the hired men would keep their traps closed for me. There are only so many places that don't have warrants out for me, and this is one of the very last ones."

"So what's your plan now? You're going to take your anger at Fisk and I out on me only instead? Or drive him to one of those places where you're already a criminal?"

"Neither. He's going to come _here_, break into _my _house, and I will kill him in self defence."

"Why?"

"Why? Because of that little escapade on the cliff. You cost me and my employer a lot of money."

"No, why would Fisk come here?"

"To save you, of course. He's grown soft in the past years. I saw him on the cliff, all heartbroken because his employer was dead. If my employer was dead, I'd spit in his face and rob him. There was a time when Fisk could say the same."

"He'll never come. He's too smart for that."

"Really? So, the Lady Cecil incident was a one-time thing. I suppose the brilliant escape from the ship was a one-time thing too. Over and over he's come to save you. Why not now? Why not when he hates the person holding you captive with a passion?"

"He'll think I'm dead."

"No. He won't."

* * *

><p>My captor returned with a quill, ink, parchment, a newspaper, and a knife.<p>

"What's the point of kidnapping me if you plan on killing me?" I asked tiredly. 'Tis amazing how exhausting lying on a stone floor with your arms and legs cramped uncomfortably due to being trussed up like a pig awaiting slaughter.

He slashed through my bonds. If I'd thought lying there was painful, being able to move without warning was worse.

"Take a look through this newspaper. Write something about a recent event on the paper. Then you can write whatever you want, within reason. Meaning, don't tell him my plan or what this place looks like."

"I won't write anything. I'm not leading Fisk into your trap."

"This chivalry thing is truly tiring, Michael Sevenson. Write him, or I'll visit Seven Oaks personally. It so happens there's already a warrant for me out there, from a con I did several years ago. So whatever I do there doesn't matter to me."

"Even you wouldn't kill innocents like that!"

"Look me in the eyes and say that again." He told me.

I couldn't. He would, and in a heartbeat. Whatever my family had put me through, it wasn't worth their lives. And Kathryn especially didn't deserve it.

So I picked up the newspaper and flicked through it. There. An ad for a horse. I copied the advertisement, word for word, onto the paper while Jack watched me carefully. Under it I wrote:

_Dear Fisk,_

_Jack Bannister is sitting here watching me write, holding a knife. I've got a head injury and I can't do much to escape. He says if I don't write this, he'll kill my family. I have to._

_If you were ever going to listen to me, this is the time you need to. Don't come. Tis a trap, as you very well know. If you come, he wins. It's as simple as that._

"That's enough. Sign your name." Jack interrupted.

—_Michael Sevenson_

Jack gathered everything, stood up, and left. Apparently I was allowed to more around now.

Not that it would do me any good. I was in a dimly lit cellar with one exit, a hatch that closed behind Jack and soon had some large piece of furniture moved over it.

I was screwed big time.


	3. Chapter 3: Fisk

This was not the first time I'd woken up in an inn with the faint scent of alcohol clinging to my clothes as I tore apart the room looking for my purse and the person I'd fallen asleep beside. It was, however, the first time that person had been in a separate bed and hadn't left of their own accord and definitely hadn't stolen my purse.

Trouble was sitting by Michael's bed, his tail _not_ wagging for once.

"Where's Mike?" I asked him. "Where'd he go, boy?"

He tilted his head. Okay, so maybe asking Trouble wasn't the best idea. He was a blithering idiot and a mute dog to boot. And he was now my sole responsibility.

"You'd better hope Michael comes back soon. I'm not as nice as him and I will kick you out if you annoy me."

A knock at the door interrupted my speech to the dog. A messenger walked in without my heeding and handed me a letter wordlessly before vanishing with a lingering gaze over his shoulder. I was too interested in the letter to be suspicious.

All it said was _Fisk_ on the back, in nondescript handwriting.

I opened it and nearly discarded it. An advertisement for a bay horse and a newspaper? This was right up Judith's alley and I wasn't going to entertain her little games today, not when Michael was—

It was Michael's handwriting. And below it was more of that nondescript, eerily familiar script.

I scanned Michael's first. My heart dropped and I hurried to read the rest.

_Fisk:_

_Your unredeemed __friend__ was the perfect candidate for my revenge. You cost me a lot of money last time I saw you. Feel free to contact law enforcement. They can't do anything, no matter what I do to poor Sir Michael._

_Sincerely,_

"_The man whose name is __not__ Jack Bannister"_

I crumpled the paper. Law enforcement couldn't do anything, but I could. And so could other people.

x-x-x-x-x

"No." Baron Sevenson said firmly when I finished giving a rough summary of the events leading up to Michael's capture.

"He's your son." I said in disbelief. "He's been rude and disrespectful and disobedient. But he's your son. You can't leave him in the hands of Jack Bannister."

"Michael and you got yourselves into this mess. The two of you can get yourselves out of it."

I looked around at this cold-hearted family. Mother, father, and brother were identical in their stony expressions. "His blood—and mine—is on your hands." I said, before getting up and walking out.

Before I reached Tipple and Chant, however, I heard a shout.

"Fisk! Fisk, wait!" Kathryn was running across the lawns.

"I'll send you a letter when we're safe." I told her.

"You don't have to." She replied eagerly. "I'm coming with you."

"No, you're not. It's a death—"

"A death sentence, you mean? Of course it is. You can't do this alone, and I can't stand by and let you and Michael die. I'm smarter than Rosamund and I've been teaching myself to fight. _She_ came along on an adventure with you and survived."

"She didn't come up on the cliffs, and you're so not coming with me to Jack's little lair."

"Fine. But you need someone with money if you expect to get back to Gorgepoint." She held up a bag that jangled in the muffled way only tightly-packed coins do.

I sighed. "You can't ride, especially not in a dress like that. How do you expect to get there?"

Without hesitating, Kathryn tugged her skirt down. I turned away instinctively, and she laughed at my hasty movement. I turned back to see she'd worn a pair of breeches under the dress, which was really a long shirt paired with a skirt in the same dark green.

"Are we going or not?" She asked as she climbed up into Chant's saddle.

"I'm moreover interested in disappearing with Tipple and the gold as soon as you turn your back." I answered, hoping to scare her. "I am a knave, after all."

"Not anymore. I inherited my father's Gift of reading people. That's another reason you need me. Oh, and by the way, if anyone asks—we're half-siblings on our way to visit our father's grave in Gorgepoint."

"I may not be able to teach you to sew, but I might be able to make a criminal of you yet."

"I'd rather learn that then learn to sew."


	4. Chapter 4: Judith

***Lord Sevenson, not Baron. I've been reading too much Rangers Apprentice. If I make any other grievous mistake, tell me. I can't find these books in any bookstore and I haven't read them in over a year. Plus I've read so many since then that the semi-photographic memory is on overload. And if anyone who has the book has no life like me, maybe you should help the wiki out. It's pathetic.**

"Message for Judith Fisk."

"That would be me." I said, holding out a hand.

He handed me the envelope and walked away whistling. It would be a letter from Michael, probably. There was always one every month, almost right on the day. The recipient was usually me, though Michael had written with information to be passed to my sisters too. This one was two weeks late.

However, when I opened it, I found Fisk's writing.

_Judith:_

_Mike isn't feeling well and we're travelling on a tight schedule. He won't be able to write you for at least three months, maybe longer._

_Love,_

_Fisk_

Fisk had always been able to lie effectively to sheriffs and judges, even in person. But he'd never been good at lying to me. And he never signed anything "Love, Fisk". Either this was the end of the world, or they were in danger and Fisk was out of clever ideas.

And I didn't really care one way or another.

x-x-x-x

"If we buy cheap and barely respectable lodgings, we could hire men to fight with us." Fisk was telling a girl in a cloak.

"It won't matter that we've got money if our throats are cut or the coins are stolen." The girl responded, pushing her spectacles back up her nose. "We'll stay in a not-so-cheap, clean, respectable inn."

I'd followed them from the address where Fisk had written the last letter to here, a small town call Gorgepoint with a gaping hole in its land.

I tapped Fisk on the shoulder. "Or we could make a camp outside of town for free." Okay, so it was a bit melodramatic to jump into the conversation like that, but I owed Fisk a fright for the letter.

He leapt at least a foot into the air and spun around. "Judith!"

"Fisk." I replied coolly.

"What are you doing here?" He asked.

"I got your letter. You suck at lying."

"I hate to be rude, but who are you?" The girl said politely.

"I'm Judith. Fisk's sister."

"Oh! Now I see the resemblance. I'm Kathryn, Michael's sister."

"Great to meet you." I said, without looking at her. "Fisk, where the hell is Michael?"

Kathryn looked back and forth between me and Fisk. "Didn't he tell you? Michael's been captured by Jack Bannister and Fisk is trying to save him." She explained, still seeming puzzled by my lack of information.

"So it's true. He's back."

Michael had told me about Jack Bannister, Fisk's former partner in crime, returning. He'd been asking me for help getting through to Fisk, not that I was any good at it. No one got through to Fisk.

"You need to go home, Judith. It's bad enough that Michael's little sister is tagging along without you coming."

"If a kid can come, so can I."

"I'm not a kid!" Kathryn protested.

Okay, so I would've said the same thing at sixteen. But this wasn't about being fair to Kathryn. It was about Michael—and, subsequently, Fisk—being in danger from the creep who'd helped rip apart my family years previously.

"You can't send me home. You're not in charge of me. If you're allowed to go after Michael, so am I."

"Fine. Come or don't come. But I'm the squire here, and there's no knight. So I'm in charge."

"Does that make us page-girls?" Kathryn asked.

"Whatever you want to call yourself. But you have to follow my orders, or I'll disappear with the gold at the first chance I get and save Michael by myself."

"Yes, sir." I replied sarcastically. "Your wish is my command."

Fisk muttered something about being screwed and stormed off down the road, towards the gorge.

x-x-x-x

"Does he ever sleep these days?" I asked Kathy.

Fisk had been awake all night the previous night, staring vacantly into the fire. And then all day, as we'd questioned a few street people, he'd kept zoning out and getting lost in some sort of reverie. It wasn't like him to be so quiet. He used to have those stupid "what's the difference between a bandit and a…" jokes to make whenever we bumped into new people. Now he was sitting just of earshot, fixing a tear in a blanket.

She shrugged. "He did, for a while. The sound of him thrashing around in his bedroll kept waking me up. I think he's losing it a bit. Between Mike being in danger and that Jack guy showing up, he seems to be constantly on edge. We have to save Michael soon or it'll be too late for both of them."

"Got any bright ideas on how to do that, rich girl?" I replied.

"I have a name."

"Your point being…?"

"My point being, use it."

"Would you like me to call you _Lady_ Kathryn?"

"You consider noblemen biased because we only allow nobles to marry each other and become friends. But lower classes are just as bad. Your social rules say that sons of farmers marry daughters of other farmers, that lower class people befriend only lower class people."

"We have no opportunity to marry anyone but lower class people because of people like you being biased—"

"Enough!" Fisk snapped.

He was standing up and looked absolutely furious. Even I flinched backwards.

"This isn't helping Michael at all. Not only is it wasting time, it's something you'll regret later. Do you know what the last thing Michael and I did was? The last time I spoke to him we got in shouting match. How would you feel if you woke up and found one of you was dead or gone?"

"I'm going to bed." Kathryn said. "Fisk, you should probably be sentry first."

"Michael and I usually just sleep. I'm a light sleeper."

"You'll be awake all night anyway." I pointed out as I spread out the spare bedroll.

He didn't bother arguing with that. Maybe this _was_ the end of the world.


	5. Chapter 5: Michael

"I've heard tell that pain is an illusion of the mind." Jack Bannister commented casually.

"Go to hell." I replied.

I'd tried escaping by using the trapdoor as a lever to push the barrel off of it, but one of the hired goons had caught me. Just the one. Of course, he called in six more to beat me into semi-consciousness so I could be dragged back to the cellar.

He just leaned back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. "Do you mind answering a few questions?"

"I don't have much choice."

"See? You're not a complete idiot. So why bother with the knight business?"

"I'm unredeemed, it's not like I can get an honest job."

"That's not what I meant."

My brow furrowed.

He sighed and shifted. Though he was acting extremely polite, there was a distant coldness behind the mask of friendliness. "I mean the do-gooder attitude. I heard about you and Fisk mock sword-fighting with the travelling players and you beating everyone. You could be the leader of a criminal enterprise."

"You mean, why help people." I realized that a bit too late. "No God looks after man, so men have to look out for each other."

Jack Bannister lost interest as soon as I started into the philosophy thing. "I see. Well, Michael, you just lost your chance to join the winning side." He crossed to the ladder and started up it.

"Wait!" I sat up, causing the chains to rattle. "What about Fisk? Is he okay still?"

"I assume so. He's been travelling."

"So he's leaving me?" I tried to sound happy, but it wasn't exactly the best news. I didn't want him to come save me, but I was still clinging to the hope that all this would end with another wild escape, like it had when Cecil had captured me.

"Oh, no. First he tried to get help from your father. Now, he's bringing the dream team to save you."

"Dream team?"

"Fisk has been joined by his sister—and yours."


	6. Chapter 6: Kathy

"What's your plan?" I asked Fisk.

He shrugged. "Find Jack's hidey-hole, break in, kill Jack, save Michael."

"Any idea on how exactly you plan to do that?"

"I was hoping you'd have one." Fisk said. "Judith, have you got any bright ideas?"

"We need someone who's got fighting men and owes Michael big time. Money only goes so far when it comes to convincing people, and we may need it for healers and herbs afterwards."

"There's no one like that. Michael doesn't have any friends besides us." I answered her.

Judith looked up from the stew pot. "I'm not talking about friends." She said meaningfully.

Fisk was already disagreeing. "No way. You have got to be insane!"

"Yes, I do," Judith said, "Because it'll take a lot of insanity to pull this off. Now, we need to take a detour and visit her."

"Visit who?" I demanded.

"Lady Cecil."

x-x-x-x

"She's going to kill us, or worse." Fisk said, banging his head against the wall. "How did you talk me into this?"

We were sitting in a small side room. Cecil's guards had been rather bewildered when we told them we were here to talk to her, and we were friends of a guy she'd once held captive. When they refused, we told them we were her enemies and she'd be disappointed if she missed the chance to kill us.

I was scared witless myself, but Judith was a mask of calm.

"I was wondering the same thing myself." A new voice replied.

Fisk spun around. His eyes were still dull and tired like they had been since my parents had refused to help them, but his features had contorted with rage. "You!"

"Yes, that is who you came here to see." Judith said.

"This is all your fault. You ruined his life. He had nightmares for ages after you… you…"

He was losing control.

"Fisk!" I said, yanking him back. "Jack's the enemy now. Not Cecil. Concentrate."

Cecil looked around at the three of us. "I'm guessing you're not here so I can kill you. And you'd be disappointed if you wanted me to. Where's Michael?" She asked.

"He's been kidnapped by an old criminal friend of mine and since he's unredeemed because he refused to drag you to an unfair trail, no one will help us save him." Fisk said angrily.

"So you want _me_ to help you?"

Fisk nodded. "You owe him that much, at the very least. He saved you twice, didn't cut your throat when the aquilas wore off, and became unredeemed for your sake."

"And if I don't help you…?"

"Michael and I die, along with our sisters."

Lady Cecil frowned. It was a good thing I had practice at home with hiding anger. If I hadn't spent the past year biting back everything I wanted to say to my father, I wouldn't have been able to hold back.

"Alright." She said. "I'll help."

"You'll send your men with us?" Fisk asked, with the slightest bit of hope in his voice.

"No. I can't order them to attack. It's still illegal. But I _will_ come with you myself."


	7. Chapter 7: Michael

**Against my better judgement, I made the last chapter in Kathryn POV. That makes it seem she's as awesome as Judith. And she isn't. And I'm not sure I'm spelling Kathryn the same way as Hilari Bell, but that looked right so I ran with it. All I know is that they call her Kathy.**

"Your squire is back in town." Jack told me. "And your sisters are with him."

I tried not to flinch. I'd hoped the second letter, in which I'd told him to escort our sisters to their respective homes and go his own way, had convinced my stubborn squire to follow my orders for once.

Before I could hear another loser vs. winner speech from my captor, the trapdoor opened. The silhouette of one of the guards was crouching in the square of light.

"There's a Lady Cecil here to see you. She wants to kill Michael herself."

Jack climbed up the ladder, and I was plunged into darkness once again.

'Tis not everyday two of your least favourite people argue over which one gets to kill you. Any sliver of hope I might've had went out the window. Actually, I wished it _had_ gone out the window. Then I would have an escape route.

Fisk would find a way. He found a way to get me out of every other hellhole I'd been in. But even as I told myself that, I heard Cecil laughing.

"This is a pretty nice place for a criminal who's supposed to be on the run. Your employer must be into the big money if you can afford cherry wood railings and…" Her voice got fainter, and footsteps followed its path away from the trapdoor.

I climbed up the ladder and pressed my ear to the hatch. Someone was struggling with the locks they'd put on it after my near-escape, and my heart soared as I realized it was Fisk who was cursing it under his breath.

Judith's voice chimed in next. "Kathryn, help Fisk with the barrel. I'll take the crossbow."

"Take my knife too." Fisk said.

She moved quietly down the hall after the other people.

Another set of footsteps and a grinding noise told me Kathryn had gotten stronger—and older—in my long absence: she had moved the barrel. "Fisk, we don't have much time. Cecil can only hold them off for so long. Use the crowbar already!" She ordered.

I had two questions for them right now: Cecil was _helping _them? And _crowbar_?

A loud thunk and then the hatch opened.

"Fisk!"

"Come on, Michael." Fisk said, grabbing my forearm and pulling me up.

"Going somewhere?" Jack asked. He was holding Judith in a headlock as she cursed and kicked at him. "I don't think so?"

Kathryn stomped her foot. "Let her _go_!"

"I know we're all busy trying to kill each other," Fisk said, "But I thought girls only did that in ballads."

Judith stopped struggling for a moment. "Knight, Squire, Lady? This _is_ a ballad." She said.

"Guards!" Jack called.

Cecil rounded the corner, breathing heavily. "Good luck with that, Jack. They're busy chasing imaginary intruders up the staircases."

"All of you, get out." Judith said. "I'll hold him off."

"Hostage and crossbow win every time. Drop the weapons and I'll let her go." Jack said, taking slow steps backwards towards the door.

Just as Fisk managed to get the dagger out of his boot, twelve guards rushed in.

"The thing about winners and losers, Fisk," Jack said as we were swarmed, "Is that we always win and you always lose."


	8. Chapter 8: Fisk

**Thanks for that tidbit of information, Jack. Never would've guessed…**

**Okay, I'm making Jack predictable instead of that evil guy whose throat you want to rip out… It's just that I've got an old best friend name Jack, and it's already hard enough not to type "Watson" (his nickname) instead Jack, let alone make him uber-evil. Deal with it. **

**Oh, but I am doing something pretty evil with Jack. I can't take credit for anything I write, but this one especially: it's mostly a scene from the TV show **_**Crusoe**_** (and the TV show **_**Merlin**_**, which reminded me of this brilliant scenario I could use for fanfictions).**

**And forgive the muffled language spelled out, but I wanted to demonstrate that I learned something besides "never give up the location of the matches and pixy sticks to your two best friends while your mom isn't home, even if they've tied you up" when my best friends tied me up with my own scarf collection. **

**Yes, I'm done rambling now. I know you're waiting for me to hurry up and write this so I can pass it over to Willow Battlegale to become the high-demand slash version.**

"How about you hurry up and kill us if you're going to?" I asked. Well, it came out as "How abow 'oo 'urry u' an' 'ill uth if urr goin' 'oo?" since I was gagged.

"Hurry up and kill you? Tempting, but I want you to remember how the world really works before you die."

That didn't sound good.

"'Tis you who needs to learn how the world works." Mike tried to say.

Apparently I speak gagged-Michael. That might come in handy again someday, as much as I hate to say it.

Jack ignored him. "Untie the lunatic and his keeper."

That _really_ didn't sound good.

"Call me a lunatic if you will, but at least have to good graces not to call Fisk my keeper."

"Michael? Shut up." I said as I was guided rather forcefully out into the yard.

There was a ditch out there, a big pit that had been dug quite recently. I'd wondered about its use and it seemed I was about to find out.

"Put them in the ditch and then move the women out here. I want them to watch. But for the gods' sake, keep them gagged. The neighbours might hear."

This was a farm house—not the three-generations-working-in-the-fields-just-to-scrape-a-living kind of farmhouse—but the kind Michael was from. The nearest neighbours were out of the hearing range of a magica guard dog, let alone humans.

That didn't sound good at _all_.

Before I could use a few choice words, I was shoved into the ditch. Michael stumbled in too, but a foot from the ground his motion stopped. Thank the gods that Cecil wasn't out yet. He panicked and fell.

I hurried over to him and helped him up. "Are you alright, Michael?"

"No." He said. "Did… Did you see that?"

"See what? Come on, Noble Sir, we have three damsels in distress to rescue. What's the plan?"

"I was hoping you'd have one."

I sighed. "Think we can climb up?" I asked, looking up the steep dirt slope.

"You can't, not before we shoot you." Jack said. The guards had taken their posts around the ditch and had crossbows armed and waiting.

"So what's your plan?" I demanded. "Bury us alive? Kill us in our grave? What?"

"Nothing that unoriginal. It's quite simple, really. One of you comes out alive, one of you dies in the pit, and two swords go in with you. Nothing more or less than an easy choice. Oh, and if you commit suicide, I'll shoot the other myself."

As he spoke, one of the guards kicked two swords into the pit—the arena. We both processed that for a moment, staring at the swords and then at each other.

"So, if I want to live…" Michael began.

I nodded. "Yes."

"I have to…"

"Yes."

"No!"

"You should be the one to live. You can find an indebted con-artist to be your squire anywhere."

"'Twas a stroke of luck that I got a real squire like that. You're one of a kind."

"A knight doesn't need a squire, but a squire needs a knight."

"You could get another job."

"Like what?"

Michael grinned tautly. "Tailoring."

"I am not becoming a tailor. You can go back to that one town and be a bouncer again, or join Makejoye's troupe."

"I've lived longer, and I'm unredeemed. You've got your whole life ahead of you."

"Cecil's right there, all tied up and ready to be dragged to your father. Work hard and maybe your brother will let you go when he takes over the estate."

Cecil squeaked in protest. I ignored her. She was still barely above Jack on my list.

"We'll never make a decision this way," Michael pointed out, "So why don't we draw straws?"

I shook my head. "Michael, think about that. Would you really kill me just because I picked the shorter straw?" I asked.

"No." He sighed.

"You could always fight it out. Fair's fair." Judith suggested.

How had she—never mind. She'd been tying herself up to practice getting out of knots since she was a child. Of course she was free of her gag.

"As long as you fight with your left hand, it'll be fair." I admitted. I had a plan. Of course, it involved me dying and Michael living, but that was the whole point. "Come on, Michael. It's just like a ballad. You're the wrongfully disliked hero and I'm the criminal."

"I heard why you started criminal behaviour from your sisters. You're no criminal and you never really were." He said quietly, handing me one of the swords.

If Michael believed I was fighting as hard as possible, this would work a lot better. So I moved first, before he'd readied his own sword, and swung the blade.

But he was a natural. I knew almost nothing about sword-fighting. He stopped the blow instantly, and I jumped back with an aching wrist for my troubles. A sidestep and another sweep that was met with a quick parry, and then I tried to lunge.

The edges of the swords' blades scraped, and soon the crosspieces were locked.

"My turn to be the hero, Noble Sir." I said, dropping my sword.

Michael had been putting pressure on it, instinctively trying to keep the blade away from him, and now that force drove the weapon at least an inch into my heart, maybe more.


	9. Chapter 9: Judith

**Me (Theo, main personality of the real writer): I can't believe I just killed off my favourite character of all freaking time! (Well, he's tied with Halt.) Noooooo!**

**Willow (alternate personality): You **_**do**_** realize this is not only not real life and not cannon, but totally under your control:**

**Me: Okay, since when are you the logical one?**

**Willow: Since the miniature version Estella inside your head took a break.**

**Me: I was wondering why only Quinn and Eva were holding up "9"s from the judge's panel when I tripped spectacularly earlier…**

**Fisk: Ahem, I'm dying dramatically in a pit over here, so why don't you WRITE ALREADY?**

I'd been untied since Jack explained his plan. I was hoping my brother's antics would distract Jack while I took control of the situation, but it had taken him being stabbed for Jack to lose interest in the whole scene.

"Fisk! NO!" Michael yelled, trying to stop the bleeding.

There was no saving Fisk, and there were more important things than grieving and trying to revive a dying man—there were still three people in danger (besides myself) here—for me to do in that instance.

I jumped up, head-butted Jack, and pushed a guard into the pit. Michael ignored the slightly stunned man.

"Michael, don't you dare let my brother die in vain." I snapped. "For heaven's sake, help me!"

Kathryn did something useful for once and threw herself—and the chair she was tied to—into a guard. Trigger-happy like most men-for-hire, he shot as he fell and killed one of his colleagues. He himself fell right into the pit at an awkward angle with the sickening crack of epic failure.

Some philosopher said the difference between stupid and genius is that genius had a limit. I liked that quote, especially now.

Jack stirred, and I kicked his temple. I thought for a moment I'd missed by a centimetre, but he fell unconscious again so I turned my back on him; big mistake.

Michael was wrestling with the guy I'd pushed down to him, so I tackled the next guard. Yes, literally.

A crossbow bolt went over my head and I used the guard as a human shield for the next two missiles that came my way. Thank the gods that they took a while to reload, especially when idiots like them forgot to bring extra ammo. The three who'd shot were frantically trying to remember where the bolts were.

The guy I'd pushed had left his crossbow, armed and ready. I shot the guy who was trying to get a shot at Michael, and he shot the man fighting Michael.

Cecil managed to free herself then, and pushed the guard nearest her in. Unluckily, he didn't die on impact and scrambled up to attack Michael.

Michael, who'd found the crossbow of that particular guy, shot one of the guys near me—he'd given up looking for ammo and tried to knife me—in the leg. I confiscated that knife with at "Thank you very much, kind sir" as I stepped over him.

The man Cecil had pushed died at the end of Michael's sword while he tried to pick up the weapon that had—that had killed Fisk.

The two men without ammo fled while one of the remaining three shot at Kathryn and hit her in the arm. I moved towards Kathy, but Cecil got their first and murmured something comforting as she bandaged it up with the gag. Talk about multi-purpose fabric.

"Oh, shit." The guy who'd fired said as I walked up to him and grabbed him by the collar.

The second of the three shot at Michael. The bolt zoomed towards the knight—stopped in midair—and fell to the ground. The person who'd fired died quickly and the third one ran screaming.

Cecil's potions had worked… I glanced at the psycho lady, but she hadn't seen.

Michael didn't pause in his avenging. "Where's Jack?" He asked.

The bastard was gone.

"It doesn't matter. We need to save Fisk."

"I can't."

"Is his heart still beating?"

"Barely."

"Michael, you've got magica Gifts like no one I've ever seen. Are you brave enough to use them to save your best friend?"

He looked up at me and I saw determination behind the pain. "Yes."

Before I could heave a sigh of relief, Michael was stumbling and slipping down the edge of the pit to Fisk's side. He'd never done this sort of thing before, at least from what I could tell, but he sat down and cradled Fisk's head.

"Please wake up, Fisk." Michael said. "I don't want magica if I can't have you back."

With a final, shuddering breath, Fisk's chest stopped rising and falling.

But then something happened that only Michael could see. I followed Michael's eyes down to the wound, which was slowly disappearing.

Fisk sat up. My brother, my annoying brother and the only friend I had on this planet besides maybe (and that's a BIG maybe) Michael, was alive. "You don't want your Gift? Who the hell doesn't want to be a magica human?"

Cecil was frozen, staring down at Michael.

"Cecil," Kathryn said, "This is why you shouldn't use those potions, not why you should."

"You're alive, I'm alive, Kathy and Judith are alive, even Cecil's alive—we should celebrate!" Michael said.

Rolling his eyes, Fisk pretended to toast with an imaginary glass. "Another grand adventure we've scraped through." He replied sarcastically.

END.

**Willow: Can I have free rein NOW?**

**Me: Go ahead. But wait till morning. You can't keep the host body awake past midnight four nights straight. She'll die.**

**Willow: *sigh* Whatever.**


End file.
